What You Own
by truly unruly
Summary: Oneshot. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you and I'm sorry I couldn't get it right with you…" In 2009, Gabrielle Davis receives an unexpected gift from her father, only to find that he has left more of an imprint on her than she thought. MarkOC. RogerMimi.


**This popped into my head today and turned into an epic. It also took ages to write. It's a bit of an experiment and the plot is highly unlikely but nice to imagine. A look at what life might be like if Roger and Mimi did have a baby. I've seen plenty of these fics and sort of love them but, in most of them, the kid is HIV negative. This is just an idea. I'm using the time line borrowed from the movie (1989-1990) just because that's what my mind used to figoure out the ages and whatnot before I wrote it. But you can read it as either (i.e. it's not specific). I own nothing except my OCs and, trust me, in this story, there are a few. I apologise if Roger or Mark is OOC and I'll be cowering behind my excuse of "Time-passed-so-maybe-they've-changed" if you need me. :) Also, I might have slipped in an NYTW reference.**

**Summary: "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you and I'm sorry I couldn't get it right with you…" It's 2009 and a young woman named Gabrielle Davis receives an unexpected gift from her father. K+ but might be T ... **

* * *

What You Own

_May 2009. New York City._

"Is this how you _really_ intend to spend your eighteenth birthday?"

From her position lounging on her bed, Gabrielle languidly lifted her eyes from the laptop and leveled her gaze to her godfather Mark.

"Of course. How else will I fulfill my dream of being a lazy bum?"

Mark rolled his eyes and then leant over her to peer at the screen.

"No! _Mark!_"

"_He took her tear-stained face in his heads and moved closer, his breath hot against her lips_—"

"I swear, Mark!" Gabrielle squeaked, pushing the screen down, "I will end you!"

"Gabrielle Davis, what are you writing?" Mark laughed. Gabrielle felt her face flush.

"It's just…it was…it's stupid, it's—"

"It's good," he assured her and then yanked on her arm, "Come on. Olivia and the kids are all waiting in the living room—"

"Noooooo!" moaned his goddaughter.

"—with presents."

"Alright."

Chuckling, Mark led Gabrielle out of her room and into the main area of the apartment. His wife and own three kids all looked up when they entered.

"Happy birthday, Gabby!" the two youngest, Alice and Steven, yelled as they rushed towards her. With a shriek, Gabrielle staggered as they attacked her legs, only to have Mark grab her arm to support her.

"Guys," he said in his best stern voice. Steven, being only seven, immediately let go and stared apologetically at Gabrielle with wide blue eyes. Alice, meanwhile, was almost ten and had a little more savvy. It helped that she was still young enough to have her father wrapped around her little finger.

Olivia, Mark's wife, was a little calmer as she stood and approached the young woman.

"Happy birthday," she grinned, pulling her close for a hug. If Gabrielle was a little on the short side for a girl her age, then Olivia was still pretty damn tall. In flats, she was about the same height as Mark and it did not help that, with her smoky grey eyes, glossy brown hair and freaking _perfect _cheekbones, even at forty, she was gorgeous. It had been over fourteen years but she still was not sure how her nerdy, awkward uncle Mark had scored _her _(or, for that matter, her aunt Maureen, though that was apparently ancient history). Did he have some secret pick-up line or tactic or—?

"Gabs, you've zoned out again."

"Hmm? Oh, sorry."

Olivia grinned again and then wrapped an arm around Mark's waist, "Oh, honey, our little girl's all grown up…"

Mark smiled, albeit a little sadly, and ruffled Gabrielle's hair, "Your dad would be so proud."

"_Maaaaaaark."_

"Remy, come wish your cousin a happy birthday," Olivia commanded while Gabrielle fussed and fiddled with her now-mussed hair. Mark's eldest daughter unplugged her earphones and threw her MP3 player on the table.

"Happy birthday, Gabby," Remy said obediently. Remy was fourteen, therefore the world outside her own head was not particularly interesting to her. She looked a lot like her mother—save for the blue eyes and lopsided grin which were undoubtedly her father's—so a lot of Mark's time recently had been spent casually telling the parents of Remy's friends that he did not like fighting but his camera was pretty heavy...

"Thanks, Rem," Gabrielle said but she had already plucked her mobile out of her pocket, "Thanks for the talk."

"Okay then!" Mark said cheerfully, "You want gifts now or later after dinner?"

"Now!" Gabrielle cried, bouncing on her feet excitedly, before freezing, "No! Wait! Later. I promised I'd meet up with Kurt."

"What?" Olivia exclaimed, looking both confused and hurt.

"You said I could invite people to my birthday dinner!" Gabrielle pointed out, "And I have to show him the way. He gets lost easily…"

Mark looked a little uncertain but consented, "Okay."

"I'll be back soon," Gabrielle promised and darted for the door.

"Wait!" called Mark and he held up a familiar orange canister.

Gabrielle grimaced, "The best part of my birthdays."

Then she unscrewed the little white cap, tipped one of the white pills into her hand and swallowed it dry.

* * *

"Don't do it, slick," Gabrielle shrieked as she leant out of her best friend's bedroom window, "You have so much to live for!"

"Ha-ha," came the response. Gabrielle planted a foot on the window frame and heaved herself up to stick her head over the edge of the roof.

"Gimme a hand; this is both dangerous and unnerving," she called. A moment later, a hand reached out and seized her wrist. Gabrielle jumped off the ledge and allowed Kurt to pull her onto the roof with him.

"How do you do this by yourself?" she wondered aloud as she sat down next to him.

"Mad skills," he replied and grinned at her, "Happy birthday, by the way. Feeling old yet?"

"Nah. So, anyway. Birthday dinner. You still in?"

"I don't know."

"_Whaaat?_ Dude, it won't be any fun without you!"

Kurt sighed, leaning his chin on his pulled-up knees. A lock of curly, dark-brown hair fell into his eyes. "I know, Gabs, but I'm not gate-crashing your party. It should be family time and all that."

"It's just me and my uncle's family!" Gabrielle argued.

"Who've basically been raising you for eight years."

"And my aunts, who I _know _love you."

"Because of my dashing good looks and charm?"

Gabrielle grinned, "Come on, Kurt, pleeeease?"

Kurt sighed again and glanced at his friend's wide green eyes, "_Fine_. But give me a while. I had a couple smokes up here and I probably still smell like a chimney."

Gabrielle's eyes widened, "You got cigarettes? Gimme one!"

"Pfft, uh, _no_."

"What? Why?"

"Smoking kills."

"Oh my God, you frigging hypocrite."

"Hey, _I _have an immune system with which to fight lung cancer and other dastardly smoking-related diseases … the Batman of the body, so to speak. Unfortunately, your Gotham lacks a Dark Knight and therefore has no savior, so when the Joker strikes—"

"Shut up, you nerd. I get the point."

Kurt grinned, "Okay. Let's go, Robin!"

"Please. _You're _Robin."

* * *

"Mr. Cohen, what's this?"

Mark poked his head around the doorway of his room, "Hmm?"

Kurt held up the tape he had found in the drawer of the coffee table, "Is it some secret mix-tape from an ex the missus doesn't know about?"

Gabrielle snickered and reclined on the old sofa, content and, more importantly, _stuffed_. Olivia never knew when to stop when it came to celebratory dinners. Mark frowned.

"Why are you going through our stuff?"

"I'm nosy."

Mark pressed his lips together and took the tape, "It's a song an old friend recorded."

"What song?" Gabrielle asked, "And please tell me it isn't one of Aunt Mo's protest songs, because the one about the cow who gauged her eyes out speaks for itself."

"It isn't," Mark replied, "It was … actually, it was your dad."

Gabrielle sat up so quickly her head span, "_Dad?_ Really?"

"Um, yeah," Mark said awkwardly. He sighed and sat down. "Your dad wrote your mom a song, see. And he decided to record it—so we would always have it—a couple of months before he …"

There was a moment of silence as Kurt stared at Gabrielle and Gabrielle stared at Mark and Mark stared at his shoes and they all thought of the man who, despite no longer being there, had made his presence so felt just in the form of a little rectangular tape he had made ten years ago.

"Can I hear it?" Gabrielle asked slowly.

"Gab—"

"Come on, I've never heard one of Dad's songs."

Mark's eyes flitted from the tape in his hand to his goddaughter's earnest face. He knew she did not have much left of her father. His eyes, of course. Memories—pictures and film as well as those moments no-one had thought to capture. An old guitar that she didn't know how to play.

And the virus that had killed him.

"Okay," he said, "You can listen."

Gabrielle smiled fleetingly and Mark leapt up to find a tape player. As he left, Kurt jumped onto the couch.

"Your dad, huh?" Kurt said knowingly. Gabrielle nodded and pointed to the old picture sitting on the bookcase opposite—a photo taken hours after her birth, showing her father and her worn-out mother grinning down at sleeping baby Gabrielle. It had been taken by a man called Tom Collins, a man Gabrielle could not remember. He had died shortly after the picture was taken.

Kurt strode over to the picture and peered at it. His eyes widened. "Whoa, _hot_."

"For God's sake, you pedophile, I was a _newborn_—"

"Not you! Your dad, though—"

"Even worse," Gabrielle said dryly. Kurt opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Mark walking in, closely followed by Gabrielle's aunts Maureen and Joanne.

"This is gonna be _sooo _weird," Maureen proclaimed while Joanne walked around the back of the sofa and placed her hands on Gabrielle's shoulders.

"You're sure about this?" she asked softly and Gabrielle nodded. Mark plugged in the stereo and inserted the tape. He stole one last glance at Gabrielle, now leaning forward in anticipation.

"We haven't listened to it either," he admitted. _It hurt to think that all we had left of him was this tape and his guitar. And you._

Gabrielle nodded and Mark played PLAY. The room was silent for a moment. The only sounds were breathing and Olivia humming as she washed up in the kitchen. Then, out of the speakers came the plucking of guitar chords and Maureen promptly started to cry.

"_Your eyes,  
As we said our goodbyes,  
Can't get them out of my mind…_"

Gabrielle could not help but smile a little. She remembered snippets of watching her father play the guitar but had forgotten he was this _good_. And his voice—it had the rasp of a smoker (Gabrielle would remember that the next time Kurt refused her a cigarette) but was clear and pure. And it was _good! _She could practically hear every emotion, could imagine the look on her father's face as he sang. She could sense how much he loved her mother and tears pricked at her closed eyelids.

"_You can see it in my eyes,_" the voice finished and the music slowly faded away. A pause passed, broken only by the rustling on the tape, and then everybody jumped when the voice once again spoke.

"_Um, so, I'm not sure how to do this_," he began, "_In fact, it's probably kinda stupid to do it on this tape but I tried and failed at stealing your camera, Mark … sooo …_" he sighed, and started again, "_Anyway, I probably won't get another chance to do this. Get the courage to … say goodbye. The doctors reckon my T-cell count is 'critically low' and all that shit. Basically, I'm screwed. So. I just want to say …_"

Another pause. Kurt glanced up to look at everyone else in the room, who all had dumbstruck expressions on their face. Even Olivia, who had popped her head in when the song had begun. _They had no idea? _

" … _well, first, Mark. You've been a better friend to me than I deserve—always taking care of me and letting me know when I'm being an asshole. I couldn't be happier that you've got Livvy and Remy and the new kid on the way and … I'm gonna miss you. If there is an afterlife, that is. And, er, I know you'll take great care of Gabby and I'm sorry that you have to keep on doing favors for me but you're the one person in the world I trust enough to take care of her. You're practically my brother, Mark._

"_Maureen, even though you did totally screw over my best friend and dump him for a woman and even though you're a whiny drama queen who can't take no for an answer … sorry, I forgot where I was going with this._"

Through her tears, Maureen suddenly giggled.

"_Oh, yeah. You're one of my oldest friends and you are a great girl. Woman. Old lady? Whatever. You're gonna be fine, Maureen, and I wish you all the luck in the world. Joanne, you're a saint for putting up with her for so long. Seriously, even if there isn't an afterlife, they'll make a heaven especially for you. You're also really cool in your own right and you've been such a great help and friend. Thanks._

"_And finally—cos there's no-one else left now—Gabby. Baby girl. I'm sorry I won't see you get into high school or even junior high. I'm sorry I'll never be able to beat off the boys with sticks—and there will be boys because you look just like your mom. I'm sorry I'll never break down and cry when you leave home or walk you down the aisle or see you become an amazing young woman. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from … you know. I'm sorry I couldn't get it right with you when you deserved for everything to be …_

"_But I got to see you, which is more than I thought I'd get. I got to see you look more and more like us every day, then I got to watch you become your own person. You're eight now and hopefully, with this new millennium coming up, you'll have years and years more. Maybe you'll meet someone; maybe you'll have a family of your own. Whatever happens, you know that I love you, so much, baby, your mom and I both did and I wish_—" he broke off and Gabrielle realized his voice was choked, pained even, "_Shit, they're home early. Sorry, I got to end this. But I love you. All of you. And if there's an afterlife—cos, God, I want there to be, with her—I'll give Mimi your love._"

A click, and then silence.

For a moment, everyone was still, uncertain of what to say. Then, quietly and stoically, Gabrielle stood up, walked to her room and slammed the door behind her.

"What the hell was that?" Olivia asked quietly. Mark looked up at her solemnly.

"That," he said slowly, "was Roger's way of saying goodbye."

"Ten years," Olivia cried, "Ten _years_. And we didn't know?"

Nobody knew what to say.

* * *

As she grew up, Olivia insisted that Gabrielle looked just like Mimi Marquez. Mark insisted that there was a lot of Roger Davis in her as well.

Gabrielle peered at her reflection. Wild, dark, curly hair; skin the colour of coffee; fine cheekbones; curves and shapely legs. These were definitely from her mother. But then there were the green eyes, the sloped nose, the thin lips and slender hands. These were definitely her father.

All her life, everyone had pointed out how much there was of Mimi in her, how much there was of Roger. But beyond her appearance, they were as different as strangers. Gabrielle was no musician, no dancer. She did not sing much; she was awkward around boys. There was only one thing she had in common with her parents: blood.

"Well, yes, you're related," a girl at school had said when Gabrielle had mentioned this. Gabrielle had smirked wickedly.

"I mean we all have the same blood type."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep. HIV-positive."

And she had cackled while the girl had edged away and Kurt had rolled his eyes.

Now, it wasn't as funny anymore.

There was a knock at her door.

"Gabrielle?"

"Gabs, this is your conscience speaking. Open the fucking door."

Mark wanted a word. So did Kurt, apparently.

"I'm sorry," Mark said upon entering, "I didn't mean to upset you…"

"I'm not upset," insisted Gabrielle, "Just … surprised."

"I know; nobody knew that was there and—"

"I'm not a thing like them, am I?" Gabrielle asked and Mark stopped short. Kurt frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Gabrielle scoffed and sat down on the bed, "My dad was … this really cool musician. He was in a band, he played the _guitar_. And Mom was a dancer. She was wild, she wasn't afraid to live even when she was dying. And they really loved each other."

"Music wasn't all Roger was," Mark pointed out, "And Mimi wasn't all about being crazy. In the end, they just wanted to be together."

"I know. But that isn't what I'm asking," Gabrielle said, "Do you see them in me?"

"Well, of course. You look—"

"No!" Gabrielle yelled, "I know I _look _like them! _Am _I like them?"

A shocked silence. Gabrielle shook her head and wiped at her eyes.

"I have my dad's hands but I can't play an instrument. I have a dancer's legs and _no _coordination. I can't sing, I'm not wild and I can't _live _like they did! I don't have any part of them left."

She groaned and put her head in her hands. There was a second, and then Mark's hand rested on her shoulder. The bed sunk as he sat down next to her.

"Gabby," he said slowly, "Do you think that's true?"

"Well," Kurt interjected, "She's right about the coordination thing."

There was a reluctant chuckle from Gabrielle, "Remember the square dancing session at school?"

"I try not to."

"The other thing," Mark interrupted, "Having no part of them. Gabs, you have the most important part of them still!"

"What?" she asked, lifting her head and blinking watery eyes at him, "Mom's ass?"

Kurt snorted and Mark frowned.

"No. Look, you don't have to be _just _like them. You're your own person, Gabrielle. But we look at you and we still see the proof that your parents lived and loved and took chances. I see you and I see Mimi's bravery and Roger's determination."

"Stubbornness," Gabrielle translated and Mark grinned.

"Sometimes, yeah. But I also see that you're living, like they did, even if you don't have as long as anyone else. And I'm proud of you. And they would be too."

Gabrielle smiled gratefully and leant her head on Mark's shoulder, "I love you, Mark."

"I love you too."

"Love you three!" Kurt said loudly. Both Mark and Gabrielle chuckled.

"But they still had their passions," Gabrielle pointed out, not allowing her friend's random outburst to change the subject, "Mom had dancing. Dad had guitar. I don't give a rat's ass about anything."

"Uh-huh. It's called _adolescence_," Mark replied, "Look at Remy. I love her, but—"

"You have writing," Kurt said, "You're good at it and you're always scribbling in that notebook of yours in Trigonometry. Isn't _that _passion?"

"Does passion mean not caring about Math?" Gabrielle asked confusedly. Mark chortled.

"Okay, let me put it this way. If I wouldn't let you write anymore, what would you do?"

"I'd destroy you," said Gabrielle and then, "Ohhh."

"Yup."

"You know what you should do?" Kurt said, "Write your parents' story. That sounds pretty epic."

"You think?" Gabrielle smiled. Mark ruffled her hair and grinned as she squirmed.

"I think," he said, "that you can do anything you want to. You just have to believe in yourself."

"Did Mom and Dad believe in themselves?"

"Not always. But they always believed in each other. And you."

The two shared a smile.

"But what would you call it?" Kurt pondered, completely oblivious to Mark and Gabrielle's own little conversation, "Something like _More Addictive Than Heroin: A Love Story_?"

"Hilarious."

"_Positive for HIV And Luuurve_?"

"Hysterical."

"_AIDS: Acquired Immune De—_"

"Seriously, Kurt, you're ruining the moment!"

Kurt pouted for a minute, before sitting down on Gabrielle's other side.

"Happy birthday, Gabs," he said.

Mark smiled, "And many more."

* * *

**Is it weird that I love Kurt? My own OC? Oh well. Like I said, it became a bit of an epic—nine pages on Microsoft Word! I won't anticipate many reviews but it would be splendid if you have any feedback or comments. **


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